And damn if I hadn’t fallen for it.
I fell for something I should have known wasn’t meant to be mine forever.
That version of him—the sweet-talking, confident brat who knew exactly how to touch me, how toreadme—was nowhere to be found now.
I moved around quietly, cleaning up with the same care I’d use fixing a fence or shoeing a horse. Small things mattered. They piled up. Just like the moments Ivy would remember.
I packed her bag while the kettle heated—extra leggings, the latest mermaid book she was obsessed with, the sun hat she always tried to leave behind but ended up needing because she loved being outside. Her snack container was already prepped in the fridge: apple slices, oat cookies, and her yogurt. I double-checked her allergy medication, slid the emergency card into the front pocket, then zipped it all closed with one hand while sipping coffee with the other.
Things should have been more difficult with Heather gone, but it felt like every other morning. I always did all the tidying up so she could sleep in a little longer. All she had to do was watch Ivy, and for that, I even had to pay her. No men allowed in the house when Ivy was here. The two timesI’d caught her getting dicked in our bed, Ivy had been on playdates. At least I was thankful that she knew bringing other men around my daughter was the one behavior of hers I wouldn’t tolerate.
I should have left her a long time ago.
But girls needed their mothers, didn’t they? She wasn’t the best at mothering, but Ivy loved her. How would she handle it when she realized Mama wasn’t returning home? All my calls to Heather last night went straight to voice mail. She’d either thrown away her phone or blocked my number.
Our home wasn’t much to look at, but everything I had went into Ivy’s care. Half of everything I earned went into her speech therapy. Once a week, every week, rain or shine, I took her into the city.
That meant skipping out on new boots when mine were worn to the soles, patching up the wear and tear around the house myself instead of hiring help, eating more canned stuff and less fresh. Didn’t matter. Ivy was talking a lot more than when she’d started. She was using full sentences. Not always clear. But it was so much better.
The house was quiet except for the click of the coffeemaker and the soft creak of old floorboards. I checked the time, then slipped back into Ivy’s room. Her eyes fluttered open, cheeks warm and flushed.
“Hey, Bug,” I said gently, crouching down. “Time to wake up.”
She blinked at me, bleary. “Tumbles?”
The bear had fallen to the floor. I picked it up, a lump forming in my throat.
“Daddy, gimme.”
I handed him over, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Here you go. You hungry?”
She shook her head, then gave the smallest nod.
I laughed. “All right. Let’s get you up and ready. Remember you’re staying with Aunt Estelle today.”
“’tay wi you.”
“I have to go to work, Bug.”
“’tay wi Mama.”
I swallowed, not sure how to respond. Was it okay to tell a child that her mother might never return home?
“When I get back from work, we’ll make hot dogs and roast marshmallows in the backyard. How does that sound?”
She clapped her hands. “Yay!”
Crisis averted, I picked her up and got on with our morning routine. She refused to wear jeans, and I had to relent and dress her in soft leggings with her favorite mermaid shirt, the one with the sequins that changed colors when she ran her hands over them. She cried while I brushed her teeth and needed a five-minute cuddle before she calmed down.
In the living room, I had her sit on the edge of the couch while I brushed out her hair.
“Braid?” she asked, her big brown eyes hopeful. From that angle, with her head tilted, she resembled her mother so much.
I sighed, crouching in front of her. “I know, baby. I’m tryin’.”
She sat still as a statue while I fumbled with her hair, but my hands weren’t built for this kind of work. Too rough, too clumsy. The braid fell apart again, and I let out a frustrated breath, fingers twitching with the urge to punch something. I hated seeing her mouth turn downward.
“I ain’t good at this, Ivy,” I muttered.
